


Best/Worst

by Trill



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Minor Body Horror, Possessive Behavior, Science Husbands, hermann rolls his eyes a lot, newt really wants big foot to be real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trill/pseuds/Trill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being bitten by a werewolf was the best worst thing to ever happen to Newton Geiszler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best/Worst

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2014 Pacific Rim Mini-Bang. Thank you so much to my wonderful artist, [Chalchiuhtotolin](http://chalchiuhtotolin.tumblr.com/) for asking all the right questions and being wonderfully patient with me. A ficlet version of this was originally posted earlier this year, but has been reworked for the mini-bang.

The bite was the best worst thing to ever happen to Newt.

Ten years of pursuing cryptozoology as a hobby, and he'd never even gotten close to proving his theories, and now he could study the effects of his own transformation? The data alone would be worth it, but proving his theories after years- years!- of being laughed out of the field? It was the icing on the cake.

He takes a two month medical leave from his position at the university, and devotes himself to studying the changes in his own body. His sense of smell is insane- he throws out most of his bath products and candles in the first week, and has Mako bring him groceries so he doesn't have to leave the house. He spends most of his time in his basement, working away in his makeshift lab. He draws his own blood, takes his own notes, and doesn't answer his phone. A few people from work try to visit- Hermann, from the math department, Stacker from admin, Raleigh from linguistics- but he doesn't answer the door. There's too much science to be done, too much to prove and explore and-

For the most part, being a werewolf is awesome.

Sure, his first transformation left him curled up in his basement for three days straight, drinking water out of the laundry sink- and his second wasn't much better, but- the things that were going on his blood? The hormone spikes, the video from when he's a wolf? It's fascinating. In a third person kind of way. The sense of smell is out of control and terrible, and crowds- well, Mako's still bringing him groceries, and he can't stand the chemical burn of her once-subtle perfume- or the way she reeks of Raleigh. And yeah, he keeps clawing at himself- he watches the videos, sees the wounds healing as he sleeps- and he has to bar the windows, eventually, to keep himself from trying to escape but- and the aggression he feels, bubbling underneath everything, the frustration-

For the most part, it's awesome. It's a mantra he repeats to himself. He's a fucking werewolf, dude. He just has to figure out what that means.

* * *

His two months are up, and he's mostly under control. He's tracked the trends of his aggression and transformations, and he's spent a few days just wandering the neighborhood, and he's pretty sure he'll be okay. Like, 95% sure he won't turn into a furry monster and eat his students. And isn't it awesome how it's like, a full wolf transformation? He could probably pass, except he keeps his mass, which is an interesting concept- he'd have to figure out a way to get his weight and measures, but it's hard enough to keep control and stepping on a scale might be too complicated but he could probably rig a scale in his sleeping corner, get a camera with a macro lens so it could see the numbers, maybe? High enough that he couldn't get at it, and-

He'd rather wait until the chance of death by werewolf was 0%, but he's bored and lonely and really, he's got this. He's totally got this.

The Math & Science building sits on the east side of campus, both disciplines crowded into one of the original buildings. The inside has gone through years and years worth of renovations to bring the laboratories up to date- and code- but the outside is still crumbling red brick and sweeping arches with gargoyles resting on all four corners of the roof, stone faces curled into sneers and snarls. The lobby floor is marble, which is very uncomfortable to sit on if you're waiting for class to start, but beautiful when you're touring the facilities as a prospective student or professor.

It was the floor that got him, Newt thinks, when he was 24 and searching for a school to teach at that hadn't laughed at his fifth dissertation. A place that would see his five doctorates and overlook his hobbies. He should have never agreed to the History channel special on Big Foot, particularly after the rough cut put the name of his institution of higher learning underneath his name. Whoops.

On campus, his office-slash-lab smells of dust and decay from the samples in his small fridge, and of the harsh cleaning supplies the janitorial staff insists on using. It's fascinating, and he spends nearly an hour cataloging by smell- he can identify most of them, but one- One is strange, almost like-

He sits in his chair, and then realizes- Chalk. Hermann.

The feud between their departments was legendary- they fought over lab space and time on the University's super computer. Last year's combined Math & Science budget meeting had taken nearly twelve hours, six of which were spent with Newt and Hermann yelling at each other across the table. They had been department heads for the last five years, co-workers for ten, and in Newt's absence, that Gottlieb bastard had clearly come in to try and steal his office. His territory.

Newt struggles against the well of aggression, thinking happy, zen thoughts about puppies and kittens and butterflies playing key-tar but- This is bullshit, why the hell was Hermann in  _ his  _ space?!

Dr. Gottlieb's office is two floors down, in the math wing, and Newt takes the stairs. Later, he'd consider how quickly he'd moved. Later, he'd wonder if he skipped a flight of stairs, if the security cameras saw him move, if- Later.

Now, he's bursting into Gottlieb's office, lips curled into a snarl, the back of his neck itchy like it got just before he shifted, nails digging deeply into his palms- He swallows, hard, being launching into a tirade, “You! You were in my office when I was gone and you moved things and why the hell would you do that and-”

Hermann had been standing in front of one of his chalkboards, his cane leaned against the sill. Newt crosses the distance between them, just inches away from the taller man's face- and then he sees Hermann's nose flare, the breath he takes, and he watches as his face turns from confusion to realization, and then something more.

“Good god, Newton. What have you done?”

His mother had always said his mouth couldn't keep up with his brain. An unstoppable object, she'd said, on the few occasions they'd had dinner together. Because his brain has just realized what the smell in his office was. His brain has just put two and two together and made four, staring at Hermann, breathing him in. His brain has connected the dots, and finished the pattern and his nose has reported all relevant data and his whole body is ready to make it's report because-

Because Hermann smells of chalk, and tea. He smells of the unscented shampoo that Newt has been using since he was bitten. He smells of damp and den and-

And of wolf.

“Dude! You're a werewolf!” Newt breaks the silence, his voice cracking and high with barely contained hysteria and excitement. Another werewolf. Hermann was a werewolf, “When were you bitten? Did you bite me? Was it recently? Have you always been a werewo- is that why you hated Faculty Monster Movie night? Dude.”

“Doctor Gottlieb,” He snaps, firm hands pushing Newton back, off balance, and then his cane is in hand, held out, keeping distance between himself and the other professor, “Not dude. Not bro. Not pal. When did this happen?”

“No, I totally got my questions in first, you can't just- how?” He stares in wonder, “How long?”

“What pack are you with?” Hermann corners him, cane coming down just centimeters from his quarry's foot. Newt hardly has time to yelp before he smells the man- chalk and dust and wolf, wrapped up in anger.

“...What? Dude, I don-” He holds up his hands defensively, trying to side step away from-

The mathematics professor slams the cane against the wall, cutting off his escape. His voice is clipped and more British than it normally is, even more than when he's angry in staff meetings and faculty parties, “I asked once. I will not ask again. What pack are you with?”

“No pack! I swear,” Newton holds up his hands defensively, “I just got bit like, three m- two! Two months ago,”

“...Of course you did,” Hermann deflates, “Of course you did.”

It goes downhill from there.

* * *

Newton's house sits just two blocks from campus. He fell in love with it for the big basement lab space, sweet!- and the fact it backed up onto the University's nationally protected wildlife preserve. It was- well, he wasn't used to company, and when he let Hermann in he had to scurry around the living room, picking up laundry from the floor, “Sorry- Just- can you just sit there?”

The irritation is gone, the itchy under-the-skin feeling he'd had at smelling Hermann in his office has been replaced by Newt's worst virtue: Curiosity. Hermann was a werewolf. It made sense, the way he growled at everybody, and the time they'd shared a lab for his simulation work and he'd literally drawn a line in it with duct tape, and the way he was like, way stricter than anyone should ever be about his office hours... But still. Werewolf. Awesome.

Hermann sits on the very edge of the chair Newt has indicated, back straight. He's talking, but Newt is far more interested in the newspaper he'd found under the couch cushion-

“There are two alphas in town- Pentecost calls most of old town his territory, whereas Chau prefers downtown. The preserve sits between them, and the University is neutral territory- likely how you went unnoticed for so long- Dr. Geiszler, are you even paying attention?” Hermann snaps, leaning forward to pull the newspaper away from the smaller man.

“Hey! I was reading that- Pentecost, Chau, got it.” He huffs, leaning back on the couch, legs spread. He looks positively indecent, his white button-down shirt riding up to reveal a swath of inked skin. A dragon's tail curls down his left hip, disappearing under the waistband of his jeans. Hermann jerks his gaze up, meeting Newt's eyes. Newt immediately looks down and away, unwilling to meet the challenge there. He makes a mental note of the surrender, slipping it into the mental folder he's labeled 'weird werewolf shit'.

“This is important. Deathly so. You're an unclaimed wolf in a contested town,” Hermann resists the urge to roll up the paper and smack him with it, instead tossing it across the room, where it lands on the coffee table with a soft 'whup'. He certainly does not allow his gaze to drop below Newt's chin again, let alone to the tightness of his jeans.

That would be indecent.

“That's not fair- it's not like I asked to be bitten, and I swear, if you come back with the cliche of life not being fair, I'll- I don't know what I'll do, but I'm sure it will be growly and involve fur.” Newt says, rubbing his arm. He'd just managed to complete the sleeves the year before, a stylized yeti on one arm and Big Foot on the other, stretching up into sea monsters that encircled on his upper arms. He was a little worried about them disappearing after his shifts, but they hadn't even faded. His eyesight wasn't any better, either, not as a human. Which, unfair, by the way.

“You will need to petition a pack for protection, lest another wolf- how did you put it? Do something growly and involving fur.” From Hermann's lips, it comes out cruel and mocking, and Newt squirms in his seat before Hermann continues, “Stacker Pentecost will likely take you,”

“But-” Newt opens his mouth to ask more questions.

“Wolves need packs.” Hermann counters, before he can hear the full question or protest.

“You don't have one.” When he says it, he knows it to be true- Hermann just smells like Hermann, he doesn't smell like anyone the way Mako smells of Raleigh. He gives the wolf part of his brain a mental high five for connecting the dots without him.

“That's neither here nor there,” Hermann says, lips a thin line of disapproval.

“You said the university was neutral territory?” He asks, “So like, I'm safe there?”

“You cannot live in your office.” Hermann sighs.

“I totally could, dude.”

“Dr. Gottlieb,” He corrects automatically, “Not dude. And you could not, you would need to leave to come home, and your home sits in a pack's territory, and lest you believe-”

“I could get another minifridge for food, use a hot plate, sleep under my desk- it could totally work.” He interrupts, considering the modifications he'd need to make to his office to make it habitable around the clock.

“Your talent for going off topic is extraordinary, Dr. Geiszler.” Hermann hisses, “Where would you shift? How would you hold office hours? In your pajamas, no doubt, which likely have cartoons on them, if I'm not mistaking your proclivities,”

“...Spot on, dude.” Newt admits, “But the Transformers were not just cartoons, I mean-”

Hermann cuts him off again, standing, “Come along.”

His tone books no argument, and the next thing Newt knows, he's following Hermann out of the house, locking the door behind them.

* * *

Newton had been stopping at the coffee shop across from campus ever since he came to live in town. It wasn't very large, just a handful of tables and some booths along the wall, but he'd met Mako here. Her father owned the place, and ran it like a well-oiled machine. The coffee was good, the desserts were better, and the regular employees had learned not to question his six-shot mocha on Monday mornings. He'd missed it, during his mostly-self-induced werewolf exile, and he breathes deeply as they enter, the shop bell jangling above their heads.

...oh.

Mako frowns at him from behind the counter, “Newt? I thought you were returning to work today?”

“Uh- plans changed,” He says, surreptitiously gesturing to Hermann. The coffee shop smells like it did before he was changed, of roast coffee and freshly baked pastries, but there's an undercurrent to it that clearly says wolf. Newt tenses, looking between Mako and Hermann.

“Ms. Mori, is your father available?” Hermann is the image of politeness, standing taller than he had before, virtually no weight on his cane.

“Of course, Dr. Gottlieb. I'll get him for you- but is everything alright?” She looks at Newt when she asks, and at his nod, she disapears into the backroom.

“Is everyone a werewolf?” Newt hisses under his breath to Hermann, looking around the empty shop.

“Hush.” Hermann snaps back, “Go sit over there, please, and try to be quiet.”

“Hey-” A look from Hermann quells Newt's argument, and he slinks over to his favorite booth, sliding into it with a sigh. If he'd had his tail at the moment, it would have been between his legs. Stupid Hermann and his stupid voice.

A moment later, Mako is sliding into the booth across from him, a sheepish look on her face. Stacker Pentecost- a man Newt only knows as the coffee shop's taciturn manager- has joined Hermann at the counter, and they appear to be deep in conversation. Thankfully, Newt now has a distraction.

“You're a werewolf!?” Newt stared at Mako, who rolled her eyes at him.

“Use your nose, pup.” She pokes his arm, hard.

“Don't call me pup!” Newt sniffs, trying to sort out her scent from the coffee. After a moment, he ohs softly, “Not a werewolf.”

“Werewolf adjacent.” She spares a look at Pentecost, who is talking to Hermann in hushed tones that Newt can't make out over the music.

“Did you know- I mean, about me?” Newt frowns.

Mako shakes her head, “I- I must apologize. Had I realized, I would have brought you here myself.”

“It's cool,” He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, trying to feel nonchalant. It's not working, and the itching under his skin is back. Hermann is over there, and now he's talking to Pentecost and the other manager Newton knows, kind of- Hansen?- both of whom keep glancing over at Newt. It's making him intensely uncomfortable, and he very much wants to leave but-

Curiosity.

He and Mako make awkward small talk in the booth, until Hermann comes to fetch him. He looks a bit more relaxed now, there's an ease to his posture that wasn't there before. “Thank you, Ms. Mori.”

“Of course, Dr. Gottlieb,” She smiles at Newt, standing, “Please come back soon, okay Newt?"

“Uh- totally. What exactly-” He gestures to where Hermann had been talking just a moment before, “That?”

“...How well-spoken of you.” Hermann snorts, “They are fine with you remaining in neutral territory, so long as you have a baby-sitter.”

Newt tilts his head slightly as he follows Hermann back to the car, “Does this make you my werewolf Yoda?”

“No.” It's firm, and Newt doesn't stop laughing untlil they're pulling away from the curb.

* * *

“Whoa, this is awesome,” Newt stares at the bar, trying to take in everything at once. The walls are covered in a red brocade wallpaper, and trimmed with a dark wood. The bar had looked pretty normal from the outside, and the dining room had been pretty standard, but after Hermann had spoken to the man behind the counter they'd been led through the back room to a door behind a bookshelf.

“Mr. Chau, this is Doctor Newton Geiszler,” Hermann stands back, shoulders square, not leaning on his cane in front of the other werewolf.

Chau- is not what Newt was expecting, based on the name and the stories Hermann had shared during the tense car ride over. He'd expected someone- well, smaller. And less- flamboyant wasn't the word he was looking for, but given the man's red velvet jacket and many gold rings, well- “Does that get expensive?”

Chau raises a brow, “Does what get expensive?”

When he speaks, Newt can see his teeth are gold, sharpened into points, and he tries not to devote brain space to how that must work when he shifts- or- “Clothes. I mean, when you shift-”

Chau's smirk turns into a leer, and he leans over the smaller man, “I don't wear clothes when I shift, boy. And you shouldn't be askin' questions, you should be answering them. Like, why are you on my territory without permission?”

“Well, He- Dr. Gottlieb-” Newt fidgets with the edge of his shirt, glancing back at Hermann.

“I meant in the town.” Chau corrects and redirect's Newton's stream-of-conciousness rambling before it can get off-topic.

“Uh- I didn't know. I mean, I knew, werewolves, kee kee-” He makes what he's decided is the universal sign for werewolf, which looks quite a lot like the universal sign for vampire, middle and index finger curving over his outstretched palms, “Because I was bitten, but like, no one mentioned packs. Other than like, the romance novels I read. Just for research, and shit. Otherwise it was just, like, me. And I didn't know. So, uh, sorry. But you guys should really offer like, an intro course, or something-”

“You survived a shift alone?” Chau snaps his gaze back to Newt, suddenly interested.

“Yeah,” He puffs up a little, not looking back at Hermann for support, “I mean, what option did I have?”

“Death.” Chau says simply, and then turns his attention to Hermann, “Are you speaking for him?”

“I am.” Hermann inclines his head, and doesn't jump when the scary lady behind Hannibal draws a blade.

“You're not trying to assemble a pack under my nose, are you, Gottlieb? Not that I don't approve of you standing up to that asshole, but you are not bringing that kind of mess to my front door.” Hannibal scoffs, shaking his head, “Ballsy as fuck, though.”

“Hardly. He's a puppy. When he's older and paper trained, he can choose a pack.” Hermann says, waving a hand at Newt dismissively, “I did not bite him, and I will not let you kill a pup.”

“You won't let me?” Hannibal draws a blade from his jacket swiftly, and the next thing Newton knows the thin metal is in his nose and yanking upwards.

“Ow! Ow ow!” He yips, taking a half-step forward to lessen the pressure.

Hermann hasn't moved, giving Hannibal an unimpressed look, “There are laws, Chau. They say pups are pups, and only the one who bites them can be held at fault. Your nose, poor as it is, can tell you I did not bite him, and your pack is no place for puppies. The one at fault is likely the rogue wolf you and your pack took down just after the new year. Dr. Geiszler has not killed, broken the veil, or turned anyone. He is packless, and, though annoying, blameless. Pentecost has no time for him, so I will take him.”

“T- what the hell!?” Newt flails, trying to stand tiptoe to keep the blade from cutting the sensitive flesh of his nostril.

“Fine.” Hannibal withdraws the blade, his eyes on Hermann. Newt stumbles back, away from the larger man before Chau continues, “But no territory. And I think you may be forgettin' the tenuous position you hold around here, old man.”

Hermann doesn't blink, gaze still staunchly on Hannibal, “His house sits in your territory.”

“Well, I guess he should move then. And next time, you don't go to Pentecost first unless-” He lets the threat hang a moment, and Newt almost fills the silence before Hannibal snorts and turns his back to the two of them. Hermann's eyes narrow into a glare at the disrespect, but he doesn't say anything. Chau snaps, “Out.”

They get out.

* * *

There's a diner on the edge of campus, an old one that's been serving up hang over food to undergrads since the University was founded. It's a little dingy, with peeling red vinyl seats and a wait staff with an average age of 60, but it's open twenty four hours a day and the food is cheap. Newt had always loved it, mostly for the people watching opportunities and the cheese fries.

Okay, the cheese fries and the unlimited coffee.

The car ride from Hannibal's had been silent and tense, and until Hermann had pulled into the diner parking lot Newt was pretty sure he was planning to kill him. Maybe there had been some lingering resentment after the infamous budget meeting last year. Also, werewolves. What the fuck.

“Supernatural bar,” Newt says to break the tension once they're seated and have placed their order. Their booth is near the back, away from the bathroom and the kitchen, and there's a four table buffer between them and the next patrons, a group of girls more interested in their waffles then two old professors. Newt continues, “That was very True Blood.”

“Is everything a pop culture reference with you?” Hermann says, cutting his pancakes.

“...how have you never seen a werewolf movie?” Newt replies, dipping a fry into the ranch dressing he'd ordered. He pretends not to notice Hermann's grimace.

“You should be eating more,” Hermann ignores the accusation, reaching for the syrup, “Your metabolism is quite a lot faster now, and not eating is an easy way to lose control.”

“Aw, Herms, you do care.” He says, and he certainly does not roll his eyes at the other man's perfect table manners.

“Do not call me that.” He can practically hear Newt rolling his eyes before he speaks again.

“Dr. Gottlieb- is that kink? Is that why you- sorry, sorry-” He holds up his hands, grinning at him across the table, “Bad joke. Why are you telling me all this? I mean, couldn't you have just called the alphas, and been all, look, there's a- what did you call me?

“Puppy.” He takes a slow sip of his orange juice.

“Kinda hurtful, dude. I am a man. A manwolf. A wolfman- have you seen that, at least? Never mind- you could have been like, hey, found a puppy, I followed him home and though he totally had a handle on all this supernatural shit I figured someone should house train him or whatever, blah blah blah, and they could have run me out of town-”

“Keep your voice down,” He hisses, eying the girls before continuing, “You are an asset to the university. Eat your disgusting french fries.” Hermann turns his attention back to his own meal, mouth set in a thin line. He's not entirely sure why he's helping Newton. Certainly, he liked the other man, and admired his research, his personal projects aside- but.

But, indeed.

* * *

It takes a depressingly short time to gather up his belongings. He's not bringing his whole house to Hermann's, just some clothes and necessities like his laptop and Godzilla night light.He also grabs his notes and data from the basement, tucking a handful of papers and thumb drives into his laptop bag. Still, having Hermann stare at him as he shoves boxers into a duffel bag is uncomfortable. Hermann's place sits nearly 20 minutes away from Newt's, further away from the preserve and well into old town. He can see the university campus from the front lawn, and he makes a face as he follows Hermann into the Craftsman style bungalow.

The house smells like Hermann. It smells like old leather, of furniture polish and lavender and tea. It smells like ink and chalk and books. Newt stands in the living room, the wooden floors creaking under his feet, “Uh- No offense, dude, but you kind of have grandpa furniture. Like, I'm kind of surprised it's not all covered in plastic-”

“The guest room is over there,” Hermann interrupts, refusing to rise to the bait as he waves a hand towards a short hallway, “There is a bathroom across the hall. You are not to come into the master bedroom.”

“...Kinky sex dungeon?”

His lips curve into a sneer, “This is my territory, Dr. Geiszler. It is  _ mine.” _

“Hey! You're the one who went all, 'he is a puppy who needs training'! I did  _not_  ask to be here,” Newt resists the urge to stick his tongue out at Hermann or snarl.

“Yes. Yes I was,” Hermann grits his teeth, “Just- please.”

“...Right. Of course. It's not like I was gonna go piss in your cheerios, dude.”

“Don't be crude.”

Newt grins, and goes to the bedroom Hermann has indicated. This... was going to be interesting. He spares a thought to if Hermann still has the duct tape, and settles into his new surroundings.

* * *

The first few days are... difficult. He's not sure where the line is, what Gottlieb will allow. The first morning, he spends an hour pacing his bedroom, unsure if the other man is a awake or asleep or- it's not until Hermann calls irritatedly out from the living room that Newton emerges, a little shame faced. But the mornings get easier, as do the commutes to and from the university. Hermann likes to walk to the science building, and Newt grows used to keeping up with him and provoking him into small fights about different theories.

He kind of likes hearing Hermann talk. He kind of likes it a lot.

Newton was still having nightmares- they'd started soon after his first shift and had never stopped, horrible visions of being hunted through the woods, being stalked and torn and- But arguing with Hermann in the mornings helped them fade. He doodled on the other man's kitchen chalkboard, squeezing little pictures in between the equations. He left him post-it notes on his grading, mainly 'seriously!?' with lots of exclamation points.

Hermann didn't acknowledge these out loud, not until Newton went to his room after work and found all of them on his bedroom door.

With the spelling corrected.

When he finally stopped laughing, he had to admit that Herms was growing on him.

* * *

“You went to the University of Berlin, right?” Newt asks one evening as they sit at the kitchen table grading papers together.

“Yes, that's right.” He nods, not looking up from his marking.

“...So you're a German werewolf in America?” He grins.

“...yes?”

“It's not funny if you don't get the references, Herms.”

“Hm?”

“Never mind.” Newt sulks the rest of the night, and adds it to his mental list of movies to watch with Hermann. He hadn't realized the list was getting so long. Or that he wanted to do so much with Hermann.

* * *

Being hunted isn't exactly like a horror movie. The worst part is that most of the time, you don't even realize it until it's too late to run.

* * *

“Nightmares again?” Hermann asks, coming into the kitchen. As always, he's already fully dressed in his old man clothes, cardigan buttoned up to the top and his pants meticulously pressed. Newt still hasn't found an ironing board, so he's not sure how the other man is managing it.

“Nightmares again,” He confirms from the couch where he's curled up in the big blanket he'd brought with him, a fleece Godzilla crushing a fleece Tokyo, “Sorry.”

“...are you dressed? I will be heading to work once I have finished my breakfast, and I will not wait for you again.”

“Dude, it was ten minutes- fine.” He grumbles and gets up, wrapping the blanket tightly around his shoulders. Hermann ignores the flash of thigh and chest, repressing the desire to know just how far the other man's tattoos trail down- “There are pancakes in the oven for you.”

“...Thank you, Newton.”

“Newt. Sure.” He grumbles.

“Tonight, we'll go running?” Hermann keeps his tone light, questioning.

“Sure,” He repeats, but there's more life to it as he disappears into his bedroom, “Ten minutes, okay?”

“Five!” He shouts back, with a roll of his eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, they're crossing the campus to work.

* * *

“I feel stupid,” Newt gripes, staring up at the sky. The stars seem especially bright tonight, the slender moon hiding behind a cluster of clouds. The forest hums with crickets and bugs and his sensitive ears pick up every little noise. It's almost worse than being in a crowd, because he's had a lifetime of tuning out other people but he's not used to the woods. The grass tickles his bare feet, and he hugs himself self-consciously.

“Yes, well,” Hermann snorts, leaning on his cane, “Better stupid than dead.”

“You know, I thought werewolves were like, a full moon thing. Like, you turn at the full moon, go crazy for a while, and then you go home and sleep it off and like, maybe you win a basketball game or something.”

“...What?” Hermann stares at the other man.

“Oh, come on. You have to have seen Teen Wolf. Unless you just watch MTV's version, in which case, you win lacrosse. And curse Jeff Davis, but-” Newt appears ready to continue, taking in a breath.

Hermann scoffs, “Focus, Dr. Geiszler.”

“Dude, we are standing in the woods, and one of us is naked. I am focused. I am zen. I am the freaking zen master of this standing naked in the woods thing. I mean, if campers or hunters or whatever stumbled across us, they'd just be like, 'hey, there's a naked scientist in the woods, that's totally normal and not suspicious at all-'”

“The preserve is closed after dusk. There are no camp grounds,” Hermann sighs from behind Newton, “And there is not just one nude man.”

Newt turns, and stares.

Fuck. His glasses were on the dashboard of Hermann's Lexus. It was totally not fair his vision hadn't gotten better after he was bitten. He squints, leaning forward-

“What on earth are you doing?” Hermann turns away, and Newt can just make out the edges of his scowl in the twist of his face.

“You're naked.”

“How astute.”

“Why?”

“We're shifting, are we not? I would hardly ask you to do this alone.”

“...Right. So how does this work, exactly?” Newt is used to having the change torn out of him involuntarily, after his body is too tired to resist it. 

Hermann lets out a long suffering sigh, and tells him.

* * *

This was different.

Changing on his own had been a chore, huddled on the cold floor of his basement waiting for the transformation to take hold. It had been agony, his body twisting and reforming against his will as he fought the urge to scream. He'd been able to determine that his body was released some kind of chemical to dull the pain, and the memory of the agony was fuzzy afterward, something he'd heard women say about childbirth, but it was still about as much fun as having a paper cut in your eye.

Being a wolf in the basement had been boring, and had felt claustrophobic, pacing between his lab tables and the blockaded door. He'd torn his clothes to shreds, and had even considered getting himself dog toys. He made it all the way to Petsmart, and standing in the toy aisle, had decided it was ridiculous.

But being a wolf in the woods, with Hermann?

It was transcendent.

Everything had a smell. The grass was bright, the dirt was musky, with different scents lingering, clinging to it. He could not only smell elk, he could tell how recently they'd been by based on the odor. His brain, normally a wild storm of emotion and information clashing together became a machine that processed information is a constant, steady manner. He still wanted to run around and smell everything, to roll in the dirt and feel the forest under his paws and to find the river he can smell in the western wind and to tackle Herm-

He spins, tail wagging wildly. He's seen himself on the black and white security footage of his basement lab. He knows he's a medium-sized wolf with shaggy fur and ears that sit too far back. He thinks he keeps his eye color, but he's not sure- his vision isn't terrible in this form like it is when he's human, but it's different, just a bit off, and it becomes secondary to scent and sound.

Hermann is a large rust brown wolf with long, slender legs. There’s little evidence of his limp in this form, though he keeps his weight off his hind leg, like it still hurts. His head is high, aloof, but his ears perk forward, turned towards Newton. He's twice Newt's size, easily, but there's something of Hermann in the curve of his brow and the line of his muzzle. He's watching Newt closely, tail still, but high.

Newt woofs once, ears flattening at the sound before- his upper body slams into the ground, butt up in the air, tail whipping back and forth, a clear invitation to play.

He swears he sees Hermann sigh, but then he's pouncing, and Newt's rolling in the dirt, and this is the best thing ever- and then he's gone, Newt streaking after him, into the woods.

Newt would be hard pressed to provide an accurate account of their evening. It had been overwhelming, the ground beneath his paws and Hermann's scent in his nose and the woods, the woods were so alive at night. They'd run through the river, chased a slow rabbit through a field. They'd seen deer, he thinks, but Hermann had stopped him from chasing them, which was ridiculous, because he was totally faster than some stupid deer. They'd splashed in the shallows of the river, and wrestled whenever Newt could sneak up on Hermann to pounce.

Which was just the once, but he'll get better at it next time.

By the time they've staggered back to the car- Newt following Hermann, still trying to convince him to play- Newt is ready for a nap, or perhaps a season of hibernation. The pads of his paws ache, and his tongue keeps lolling out. But his tail won't stop wagging, and he has to admit this is the most fun he's had since the bite.

Hell, it's probably the most fun he's ever had, full stop.

* * *

Newt isn't sure how they'd wound up back home- he had a faint memory of the car ride, and Hermann admonishing him for sticking his head out of the window- but he's not sure how he wound up on the couch, human and drooling on a throw pillow. He'd gone the whole night without a nightmare, without someone hunting him, and he relaxes into the couch with relief. The late morning sun is streaming in the window, and the house is quiet. Familiar. Newt lets his eyes close again, content to drift back asleep, at least for a few hours.

And then he realizes there's something heavy on his hip, and opens his eyes again, tensing. Hermann is sprawled out on the other side of the couch, still in the clothes he'd put on after their run. His cane is leaning up against the coffee table, but his head is resting on a pillow that's resting on Newt's hip, arms tucked under it. He looks relaxed, and really, if Newt is being honest with himself, handsome now that his face isn't sneering at him. His mouth is curved up in a smile, and something in Newt's gut clenches.

Newt stares for a long moment, and then lets his eyes close, drifting back to sleep. When he wakes up again, Hermann is at the kitchen table, working on the Saturday crossword.

* * *

The few days turn into weeks, and life settles into a routine. Newt packs them both lunch while Hermann showers and gets ready for the day. Newt grades papers over breakfast, or does the crossword, which he sneakily slips out of Hermann's paper while the other man is in the shower. Hermann yells at him for doing the crossword before he can, and Newt suggests trading the first shower for the crossword.

This suggestion is met with more yelling, primarily about the amount of hot water Newton can reasonably expect the hot water heater to provide, and usually segues into a lecture about eating the last of the carrots or some other small offense. Newt usually yells back, and it's probably his favorite part of the morning. But he'd never tell Hermann that.

They leave for work together in the mornings, squabbling over what to have for dinner. They eat lunch in Newt's office, discussing theories over sandwiches, sitting a little bit too close over Newt's desk. They leave at the same time to go home, often well after eight, and despite the arguing over who has to cook, they usually stop to grab dinner at the diner on the corner of campus before going home. Newt turns on Netflix, and Hermann grades papers at the kitchen table until he can't resist commenting on the poor science in the science fiction Newt likes, and then joins him on the couch.

Sometimes, they touch. Sometimes, Newt lets the comfort his wolf feels in this, its den overwhelm him, lets it settle into his bones, the comfort and the belonging. On nights where he lets that happens, or nights when he can't stop it from happening, he sprawls languidly across the couch, crowding the bubble of personal space Hermann has maintained despite using Newt as a pillow in the past.

Hermann never says anything, never pushes him away. Sometimes, he even leans into it. Which Newt thinks he may be imagining.

But on those nights, the nightmares aren't so bad.

* * *

Hermann's phone buzzes on his desk, and he spares it a glance before turning back to the whiteboard. His class was packed for the first time all semester as all the errant students returned for the finals review session. He hated teaching entry-level courses, but as the department head he'd needed to set an example by teaching just one a semester- but that was neither here nor there. He'd grown used to the large classes over the years, but it was difficult on days like today, the whole room a mess of barely washed humans and too much perfume, colonge, or body spray. He's kept his back to the room most of the session, slowly filling the squeaking whiteboard with examples of formulas they should all know by now, but insist on asking ridiculous questions about.

He grips the marker tighter, circling the answer on the board. His phone buzzes again, and again, the force of the vibration function sending it off the pile of papers and onto the wooden desk itself, where its louder.

“Uh, Dr. Gottlieb?” One of the students in the front row, one who's face he's seen perhaps twice all year, raises her hand, “You gonna answer that?”

The class titters at her comment, and Hermann levels them all with a glare before picking up his phone. He'd intended to turn it off and slip it into his pocket, but something makes him check the screen first.

There are over a dozen texts from Newton.

Oh no.

* * *

Hermann finds him where the texts say he would, in the supply closet near his office, pressed up against the back wall and huddled up against a mop. He's half-shifted, and it's a grotesque mixture of man and wolf, Newton's tattoos interupted with patches of fur and his face twisted into a muzzle. His hands are curled in on themselves like claws, clutched to his chest, his phone useless now that he lacks the proper digits to operate it.

“Newton,” Hermann says softly, carefully closing the door behind him. The closet isn't that large, not much bigger than a TA's office, though the shelving and cleaning supplies make it seem smaller. His heart is in his throat, listening to Newton's own pound in his chest, the rapid beat of a man in pain.

Newt doesn't look up, just curling into himself further as a shudder goes down his body. His shirt is ripped where his muscles have formed and reformed. Hermann lets out a soft sigh before jamming his cane under the door knob to prevent the door from opening. With a hiss of pain, he lowers himself onto the floor beside Newt.

Newton growls, lips curling over his elongated teeth. Hermann growls back, his own teeth dull and completely human, “Do not even think about it, Dr. Geiszler. You are ridiculous.”

Newt's ears, more wolf than man at this point, flatten against his skull.

“I have told you time and time again, you need to eat in order to maintain control and you clearly haven't been,” Hermann maintains the distance between them, small as it is, and keeps his voice stern and even, “You should know better than this, truly. You are an educated- dare I say over-educated- man, who should have more regard for his personal safety and health than this.”

Newt's heartbeat is still racing, but it slows slightly as Hermann continues to lecture him. He keeps his gaze on the ground in front of him, particularly interested in a large greenish stain under a bucket.

“I am not walking home with you in this state,” Hermann keeps his tone flat and even, watching the other man as he talks, bringing up an old argument on why Newt's biology department is inferior to the maths division. Newt opens his mouth to argue, finally looking at Hermann, but his mouth is too stretched out to manage language.

“Come now, darling,” Hermann's voice goes softer when he sees the tears pricking in the corners of Newt's eyes, “You're a man. Concentrate on that. You're human.”

It's another half hour before Newton is finally human again, cheeks streaked with tears of pain and frustration. Hermann holds him, gently- at first it had been to keep him quiet, but the touch had helped with the change. He pats the other man's hair, stroking it back and murmuring comforting words to him and listening to Newt's explanation- too many people, too much noise and- Hermann hushes him, and helps him home afterwards. 

Hermann's leg aches for days after that, and Newt is quiet, but they find their new equilibrium.

* * *

The second night in the woods is better than the first. Newt is more coordinated, the change less painful and Hermann more relaxed. 

Newt still wakes up alone on the couch, though. 

* * *

“Does Raleigh know?”

“Raleigh's a wolf, too.”

“What the hell.” Newt mock-glares at her, letting his glasses slip down his nose as he leans forward, “Is this like, a giant conspiracy? Am I on a terrible wereTV show?”

“There's no such thing as wereTV, Newt.” She scoffs, “It's not that I didn't want to tell you, but-”

“I would have told everyone.” He finishes for her, tugging down the edges of his sweater with a sigh, “I know. It's still unreal, you know? Werewolves. Other.. stuff. There's other stuff, right? Like-”

“Big Foot isn't real, Newt.”

“Well, that's disappointing,” He pushes his glasses back up his nose with a dramatic sigh, “There goes my life's work. If you're right. Which you totally aren't, because there have been sightings and footprints and yeah, sure, some were hoaxes but dude, how else did so many cultures come up with- never mind. But seriously, how does it all stay quiet?”

She gives a small shrug, “Right people. Right places. Mistakes are...” She drops her gaze, “Costly.”

“...Riiiight,” He coughs, “Changing the subject- was he always like this?”

“Hermann?” At Newt's nod, she continues, “Well, you've known him longer than I have, or at least, better. I rather think he's cute.”

“Cute? Hermann.” Newt snorts, sending the foam from his latte up into his face. He wipes it off, giving Mako an incredulous look, “You must be mistaking him for someone else. Old man clothes? Television from the 80s? Stick up his ass?”

“He smiles, when he looks at you. Softens. I don't think I've ever seen that.” She shrugs, and takes a sip of her coffee before changing the subject, “Chuck thinks you'll join the pack soon.”

“Does he, now?” Newt makes a face, and Mako laughs, and then they're talking about the unjust cancellation of television shows and the inaccurate fighting techniques in the latest summer blockbuster, about the best kind of coffee and the worst kinds of candy. Anything and everything but werewolves, or Hermann.

* * *

It has his arm, and its not letting go, ripping into his flesh, its golden eyes flashing in the dark and-

“Newt?” The voice is high and frantic, and there's a pounding on his door that breaks him free of the nightmare and he jerks awake with a gasp.

“Y-yeah?” His heart is pounding, and he feels the change just under his skin now that he's awake, the dull ache brought on by the fear and the adrenaline- he spares a thought to if they could use chemicals to force a shift, maybe or repress it and- he slams his hand on his nightstand, grasping around for his glasses, and then for the light switch. The light burns his eyes, and he twists away from it with a little whine.

“I'm opening the door,” Hermann's tone books no nonsense, and after giving Newton a moment, he pushes the heavy door open. He doesn't have his cane, and his hair looks ridiculous, shoved up and messy from his pillow.

“...I thought you'd wear pajamas,” Newt frowns, adjusting his glasses, but he can't get them to sit right.

Hermann glances down at his boxers and bare chest, lips curling into a scowl, “You were screaming.”

“Oh- sorry,” He winces, trying to fix his glasses, but his hands are shaking and his breathing isn't quite even and maybe it's going to stop and maybe then-

“Newton. Breathe.” There's an edge to Hermann's words, a command beneath them, and that voice makes something in Newt uncurl and want to roll over like a puppy, to snuggle down and-

“Dude, can you do that again?” He looks back up at Hermann, this time appreciating the other man's slim frame. He'd fantasized about him a few times- okay, more than a few- even after the whole werewolf thing, and he's a little bit surprised to find the reality of Hermann's bare chest is even better than the fantasy.

“What?” He frowns, leaning heavily against the door frame.

“The breathe th- no, it's stupid.” Newt says.

A look of alarm crosses Hermann's face, barely visible in the half-light from the nightstand lamp. Newt doesn't notice, still fidgeting.

Hermann takes in a deep breath, and his voice is stilted when he starts to speak, “When I was younger, I had nightmares,”

“About what? Being a bad ass?” He forces a laugh, unable to imagine Hermann- strong, stern Hermann, who wielded his cane as well as his wit, being afraid of anything

“No, my leg-” Newt goes still, listening, so Hermann continues, “When I was attacked, I was hardly more than a kindergartner. I'd gotten lost in the woods, separated from my family, from the pack. I believe I had scented something off, but-” he gives a small shrug, and indicates the end of the bed, “May I sit?”

“Knock yourself out,” Newt says quickly, pulling his legs up to let Hermann sit at the edge of the bed. He wiggles into a sitting position, leaning against the heavy wooden headboard and pulling a pillow into his lap. .

“Thank you.” He settles on the very edge of the bed, “Unfortunately, what I had found was a rogue alpha who had been sniffing around the area. My father knew he was out there, but hadn't expected trouble. Or so he said.” He scoffs, “The alpha- well, I ran, but not fast enough. He grabbed my hind leg, and did damage to the muscle. It should have healed without issue, but-”

“It didn't.” Newt finishes when Hermann hesitates, able to see the long scar running along the side of Hermann's thigh, “Why didn't it?”

“We were never sure. A large bit of the muscle was gone, and it did stitch itself together, it just didn't all grow back,”

“Shit, dude, that's awful,” Newt wants to hug him, to offer comfort and to pull him close, but he resists. Hermann's just putting up with him, he's a duty, not-

He waves a hand, dismissing Newt's concern, “It was long ago. I have adapted. I can still run, at least on four legs if not two.”

“Still, I mean-” Newt knows he's about to babble, to start rambling about the structure of muscles and the way that he'd once regrown something in his lab and maybe he could fix it if Hermann gave him time not that Hermann was broken or anything but why don't they go now, and just forget about sleeping, ever again, it could be a group project, maybe- Hermann's numbers and his science, they could make it work, they had been making it work, Newt thinks?-

“Newton,” Hermann cuts in, interrupting the other man's derailed train of thought, “Why I say this is that when I was young, I had nightmares. Being around my pack mates helped. I- I could stay here, tonight. You need the sleep,”

“No, I couldn't ask you to do that- I move around a lot, I probably snore, I- “

“It's fine. At least the snoring is better than the screaming,” He says wryly, hesitating before placing a hand on Newton's knee, “We could perhaps sleep on the couch, if you would be more comfortable? You seem to sleep fine when you drift off during those terrible television shows you like,”

“I know you didn't just call Star Trek terrible.” Newt grumbles, eyes on Hermann's hand. He doesn't move to stop him, though- it's nice. He likes the touch, he's missed being casually affectionate with people and Hermann puts up such a 'no touchy' vibe unless they were on the couch-.

“Fine, it's not terrible.” Hermann concedes with a roll of his eyes, “Well?”

Newt considers, but it's not really a difficult decision. He likes being near Hermann- the other man smells like home, and like earth and sky and the feel of grass under his paws, which is a weird thing to put into words. He smells like his office, like chalk and old books, of coffee and- well, like Newt, a little. “Please? I mean, if you hate it, you can leave.”

“Alright. Move over.”

It takes a few minutes, but soon they're settled in together on the bed, Newt's back to Hermann. Hermann stares at the ceiling, and lets out a long sigh, “Good night, Newton.”

“Mmgh, night Hermy,”

“Must you-”

“Shh, sleep.” Newt grumbles at him.

Hermann does fall asleep eventually, after listening to the other man's breathing even out into the steady pattern of sleep. He's not sure what he's gotten himself into.

And he's not sure he minds sharing Newton's bed.

* * *

The next morning, Newt is gone when Hermann wakes up in the other man's bed. Hermann tenses, but he can make out the sounds of cooking in the kitchen. He rolls his eyes, and stumbles to his bedroom to dress before joining his packmate. Housemate.

Housemate.

Shaking the thought of Newton being his pack from his mind and admonishing the wolf side of himself, he dresses and settles at the table with the crossword, which Newton had left on top of the paper, beside a glass of orange juice. Hermann doesn't say good morning, and neither does Newt, both settling into their Sunday morning routine.

“So... If that happened when you were like, tiny, when were you bitten?” Newt breaks the silence five minutes later as he flips the pancake over, grinning at the perfectly browned bottom. He senses Hermann tensing, and looks over with a frown, “If you don't want to talk about it, dude-”

“I am not 'dude', Dr. Geiszler.” Hermann says, on reflex. He's seated at the table, leaning over the crossword puzzle.

“You drooled on my pillow last night. I think you can call me Newt now,” He rolls his eyes.

He coughs, and there's color in his cheeks when he answers the original question, “I wasn't bitten, I was born.”

“That can happen?”

“Yes, well, when two werewolves love each other very much-” Hermann says dryly.

Newton laughs, sudden and loud,, “Oh man, that was good. But seriously-”

“Yes, it can happen. Most werewolves are born, now. There are strict rules about turning people, and it's something to be avoided. The older families have whole dynasties of packs and structures- it's a difficult job, concealing a whole species.”

“I wondered about that. Mako and I were kind of talking around it, I guess- I figured it was either scarcity or just- yeah. So you're from one of the old families?”

There's a hesitation before he answers, “Yes.”

“That sounded enthusiastic.” Newt snorts, piling pancakes on a plate.

“I do not wish to discuss my family.”

“That's cool, man.” Newt holds up his hands, spatula dangling, “Just curious, sensei.”

“We can discuss family packs at a later date, or you can discuss them with Pentecost.”

Newt makes a face, “He's scarier than Hannibal.”

Hermann laughs, nodding his agreement, “Yes. Yes, he is.”

“Can we go running again tonight?” Newt fidgets with his coffee mug.

“Of course.” He nods, frowning, “Are you beginning to lose control? Do we need to spend the day in-”

“No, man, it's fine, just- it was fun.”

“Fun.” Hermann echoes, disblieving, “Right. Of course.”

* * *

The nights in the woods are some of Newton's favorite times of his life.

Hermann would never admit it, but they're his, too.

* * *

“So, why isn't Hermann in a pack?” Newt and Mako are sitting in their usual corner booth at Pentecost's coffee shop, a plate of scones between them. Newt's already had two, and is considering a third. Raleigh is a new addition to their now weekly coffee date, sitting beside Mako and sipping his coffee. Black, no sugar. Newt can't even imagine that's good, and he's been nursing his hazelnut mocha for the last twenty minutes. They've talked about the latest Marvel movie- Raleigh is wrong about all of it, by the way, his opinions are totally not valid, ugh- and the upcoming summer break, but Newt's been curious since breakfast with Hermann a few days ago, and- well, he can't help himself.

Mako frowns, looking down at her own drink, carefully considering her answer. “Hermann's father is the alpha of a very old pack,”

“...So? I mean, I hear the guy's a dick, but-” Newt shrugs.

Raleigh picks up Mako's story, “When we move, or travel, if there's a pack where you're going you have to clear it with them, first. Usually your alpha vouches for you, negotiates on your behalf. When I came here for university, my alpha had to speak to both Pentecost and Hannibal to get permission. This place is kind of weird- most towns with a pack only have one- but it took like, months.”

“Still not following. Also, creepy.” Newt snorts, “So like you can't just move somewhere?”

“Well, you can- but it leaves you vulnerable. Not all alphas give permission to leave, of course, so sometimes moving to a new area with a new pack is a good shot at finding a better home. But not all packs will accept an outsider, and sometimes, there's retribution,” Raleigh continues, “Sometimes, you have to go back to your old pack with your tail between your legs. My pack knew that after Yancy-” He hesitates.

Mako picks up smoothly where Raleigh stopped, and Newt admires the way they they compliment each out, “Sometimes, letting a person go is the best thing for the pack. Sometimes, leaving the pack is the best thing for a person. Hermann's father did not give permission for him to leave, but he left anyways.”

“Dude, so Pentecost won't let him into the pack? That's a dick move.” Newt growls, and grabs another scone.

Mako laughs- and Newt feels the sudden defensiveness fade, and considers putting the scone back before tearing off a chunk and stuffing it into his mouth- and continues, “No, father wouldn't deny a wolf entrance unless there was something wrong. Hermann has very good control, and would be a boon to any pack. No, his father made all packs aware that if they took in his son, there would be.. retribution.”

Newt stares, “He can do that?”

Raleigh snorts, “Lars Gottlieb? He has one of the largest packs in Europe, and damn near the oldest.”

“But- why?” Newt frowns, “I mean, from what I gather, there's very little love lost between them- Herms doesn't mention him. At all.”

Mako's eyebrows go up at the nickname, but she doesn't say anything about it, “I believe he expected Hermann to come back of his own free will.”

Newt snorts, “Yeah, right. Hermann is the most stubborn dude I've ever met.”

“Exactly,” Mako smiles fondly, “And in most areas, Lars could come in and take Hermann by force. But because we have two area packs... It would be much more difficult. Father's pack couldn't take on Lars, nor could Hannibal's, but between the two of them? They've come together to ward off threats before. Also, they both have allies, so...”

Newt makes a mental note to ask her about the previous threats, but he's far more curious about Hermann, “But why did he leave in the first place, if he couldn't join a pack? I mean, the way he talks, packs are important.”

Mako and Raleigh share a look before Raleigh answers, “That's something you'd need to ask him.”

Newt makes a face, and Mako laughs, “Father and Hannibal granted his petition to be a lone wolf in the area. That way, he's not putting either pack at risk.”

“Thanks,” Newt frowns, considering the other half of his scone, “But ten years? I mean, that's how long I've known him, and- ten years?”

Mako shakes her head, “It's his choice." 

“Those are some pretty shitty options, though- be alone for ten years, or join a pack and have your crazy dad start a war, or go back to said crazy dad.”

“Well, when you put it that way...” Raleigh snorts.

“But what made him leave?” Newt asked, frowning.

“For that, you'd need to ask him.” Mako shrugs, “I probably shouldn't have said as much as I did, but you needed to know. Hermann cannot join a pack, though of course, father has made it clear you are welcome.”

Newt's frown deepens, and he puts down the scone, eyes closing a moment, “That sucks.”

“Yes.” Mako replies.

“...I should get home,” Newt slides out of the booth, agitated. He has to get home to Hermann, to ask him about this. Ask why he hadn't told Newt himself- he just thought the guy didn't agree with the local politics, or something.

Raleigh stands, letting Mako out of the booth. She considers Newt a long moment- his sudden twitchiness, the tension- and then hugs him, tightly. Newt breathes in- she smells of Raleigh, of jasmine and coffee- and relaxes, slightly. It's nice to be hugged, even though she smells slightly off. Only then does she let go, smiling at him, “Be kind to him.”

“Hey, I'm always kind to him, when he's not being an ass,” Newt snorts, and is startled when Raleigh hugs him, too. The other man smells of Mako and motor oil, and he wrinkles his nose, loosely returning the hug before stepping back.

“I know,” Mako laughs, “Goodbye, Newt. See you next week.”

“Thanks again,” He turns, and heads home.

Home. Huh. He likes that. 

* * *

The house was quiet, and it was driving Hermann crazy. He used to appreciate the silence of his home after growing up in a house constantly full of packmates and siblings. He had loved sitting in the breakfast nook, watching the forest out his window, enjoying the sunlight as he graded papers and tests or worked on his research and algorithms. He'd painted a wall with chalkboard paint, and he could spend hours in front of it, letting the numbers seep into his mind until he'd solved the problem.

Now it still has some of his problem sets, but Newton had gotten a hold of some green chalk and covered every blank space with tiny Godzillas and other monsters. And now, he's fairly certain Newt would lecture him on the proper plural for Godzilla, and-

The quiet is under his skin, and it itches. He's been sitting at the table for the last hour, trying to grade the same problem sets. But he's gotten used to Newton's banging around the house, to him watching the television with the volume too high, to his stupid snoring when he fell asleep on the couch- Hermann sighs, and tries to focus on the issue at hand. He's barely made it through the first page before he hears the front door open-

“Don't slam the-” The front door closes with a slam, and Hermann sighs. It's not entirely without fondness.

It's only a moment before Newt is in the kitchen, heading to a cupboard, “Hey Herms, get a lot of grading done?”

“Hermann, it's barely an extra syllable, it's not that difficult, Newton,” He grumbles, watching Newt pull down a mug.

“Yeah, yeah. And it's just Newt,” He grins over his shoulder at the other man before pouring himself a cup of tea from the carafe on the counter.

Hermann rolls his eyes, and takes in a deep breath- and the smell hits him. Lately, he's grown used to Newton smelling like him. Like home. And now he smells of Mako, and Raleigh, and Pentecost's pack. He smells of the coffee shop, like he'd been rolling around in the beans or sleeping in a display case and it makes something in Hermann's gut clench. His lips twist into a snarl before he can help himself, “You'll need to make more tea if you plan to indulge, Dr. Geiszler.”

Newt stops, frowning, “Dude, Newt.”

“If you are going to insist on ridiculous nicknames and drinking the last of the tea, the least you can do is not comment on my use of your proper, earned title and begin brewing more,” He snaps, standing, “Not that you're able to even do that properly, mein gott.”

Newt has a baffled expression on his face, stepping back from the tea with his mug half-filled, “What's gotten into you? Geez,”

“Absolutely nothing has 'gotten into me',” He pitches his voice higher, moving into Newt's personal space. He can feel his wolf right under his skin, in a way he only felt when he neglected to change for a lengthy period of time. It only fuels his ire, and he leans into Newt's personal space and taking in a deep breath. It's only worse up close, and he can hear Newt's heart hammering in his chest.

“Uh, Herms?” Newt leans back against the counter, gripping the edge of it.

“You-” Hermann can't put his ridiculousness into words, the wrongness of the way Newt smells. It hadn't bothered him in the past when he came back from coffee dates with Mako. It hadn't irritated him like this, but- He grabs Newton's ridiculous skinny tie and yanks the other man forward and off-balance, running his cheek along his and then pressing against him. He inhales sharply, nose tucked behind Newton's ear where he still smells of home and pack and-

Oh.

Oh no.

“What are you doing?” Newt's back is pressed against the kitchen island, and he's not quite afraid. Actually, his body reminds his brain, this is kind of hot, Hermann pressed against him, his breath hot on Newt's neck. Actually, it's super hot, and he grips the counter tighter to resist putting his hands on Hermann.

Newton has gone very still, his heart still racing. Hermann can feel the blush heating up his cheek, but his wolf has settled, reaffirmed that Newton is his, is home and pack and- He sucks in a deep breath and jerks back, away from the other man, stumbling back against the far counter before catching himself. He's breathless, “I- I'm sorry. That was inappropriate, I shouldn't have-”

Hermann's heart is pounding now, and Newt tilts his head slightly, as if considering the other man for a moment before stepping forward to close the gap between them, his mouth moving to claim Hermann's.

“Do you find this.. favorable?” Hermann's voice is husky around the edges when he pulls away for air, leaning on Newt. The kettle has been whistling on the stove for a few minutes now, but neither man has noticed.

Newt laughs breathlessly, “What kind of a question is that, jesus, Hermann, you're like the stuffiest man- of course, dude.”

Hermann growls softly, playful, moving in to kiss Newton, nipping his lower lip before pulling away, “I'm not dude, Newton.”

Newton grins, hand slipping to the front of Hermann's pants,“There's, uh, some evidence to the contrary right now,”

“Don't be crass,” Hermann chides, grabbing Newton's hand and keeping it still, “I simply meant- is this- what you want?”

“Dude- sorry, Herms- or is it Dr. Gottlieb?” He raises a brow, “I've been fantasizing about this since we shared a lab.”

“Ah.” He grinds against Newton's hand with a shiver, “Well then.”

* * *

They spend the night in Newton's bed- just sleeping, stopping short of getting anywhere beyond kissing. Hermann snores softly, curled up on his side as Newt presses against his back, an arm curled protectively around him.

There are no nightmares, and both men are grateful.

* * *

The next morning, the coffee shop is all but empty, just Raleigh working behind the counter. It's almost summer break, and all the students who normally flock here to study have instead retreated to the library to cram for finals. Soft jazz plays, and from the back, there's the hum of the roaster running. The light rain falling outside has kept it cool enough to be short of unbearable, but the oncoming onslaught of the summer heat means roastings will be few and far between. Hermann takes in a deep breath, sliding into the booth across from Pentecost.

“And where is Doctor Geiszler today?” Stacker leaned back in the booth.

“At home, still. I came- well, I came to ask a favor.” Hermann fidgeted with his hands, keeping his gaze low and on the table. Stacker was not his alpha, but he was An Alpha, and it was best to not agitate men when you needed their permission for things.

“What sort of favor?”

“Newton- I have grown rather fond of the boy- man- him-”

“I could hardly tell,” His tone is dry, and he leans forward. Hermann instinctively leans back in his chair, ceding the table. He knows he reeks of Newton, of what they'd done the night before- he should have showered, but he'd woken up terrified and had left before Newt had woken up.

“The university is neutral territory, as is the area around my home.” Hermann purses his lips, “I wish to ask that my neutrality be extended to him as well.”

“Has Hannibal agreed?” It's the question he's been dreading since the drive over, long fingers drumming against the steering wheel anxiously.

“Since when do you care what Hannibal does?”

“Hermann,” It's sharp, and books no nonsense.

“If you will not grant-” Hermann begins, mouth twisting into a scowl.

“I didn't say that, did I?” Stacker's tone is still sharp, but there's a twist of humor in it, the if Hermann would draw his gaze up, he'd see the smile, “He could join my pack, and still stay with you, you know.”

Hermann can't stop the growl, but does try to cover it with a cough out of politeness, wringing his hands, “I-”

“Say it, Dr. Gottlieb,”

“We would not be a pack.” Hermann says, quickly, accent coming out in the ends of his words, “It would merely be two wolves, we would not expand or overstep. Our agreement would remain in effect, and my father- Lars would not be involved.”

“Ah.” Pentecost considers him, hands folded, “I see.”

“Well?” Hermann is agitated, fingers drumming the edge of the table. 

“Newton may be protected by the auspices of our agreement, Dr. Gottlieb,” Hermann relaxes a fraction, but Stacker continues, “However, I expect the both of you to maintain a presence in the larger community. There will be no more hiding.”

“Hidi-”

“Hiding.” He levels him with a look, “Have I made myself clear?”

“...Yes,” Hermann deflates, “We will make an effort.”

“I didn't ask you for an effort.”

“Fine. We will discuss dates and times at a later date, yes?” Hermann doesn't growl, but it's a close thing. A part of him wants to join Pentecost's pack, to become a part of the quiet family life of the coffee shop. From what he's observed, it's nothing like the pack he grew up in- Mako isn't even a werewolf, yet they all treat her with respect, not like a second class citizen. The Wei triplets travel extensively, and he's never heard of Pentecost refusing a peaceful werewolf entry to his territory or turning away a petitioner.

But he can't. And the greedy, selfish side of himself, the one he's worked so hard to overcome, cannot share Newton. His base instincts won't allow it, and he feels Newton may feel the same way. It was a discussion to have, in the future. In the near future, Hermann admits to himself, and then sets to working out the terms of the agreement with Stacker.

It takes a hour before the terms are agreeable to both parties, and they part with a handshake and a promise to speak again soon.

* * *

Dealing with Hannibal is easier, as the larger man has no want or need to interact with Hermann and Newt on any basis. Hermann promises he will speak to Newton about selling or renting out his home, thus leaving Hannibal's territory. He agrees to not expand their pack, and to maintain the current neutral zones.

Hannibal laughs at him, but agrees to peace.

* * *

That night, he shares the news with Newt before they slip into Hermann's bed. Newt had been disapointed to see it wasn't a kinky sex dungeon, but the huge mattress and wrought iron headboard spoke of possibilities down the line. It's not a very personalized space, and Hermann shuts up Newton's musings on redecorations half-way through the second Godzilla statue.

“You totally imprinted on me,” Newt says some time later, propping himself on his elbows so he can get a better look at Hermann,“You took one look at me at our first staff meeting, and went, 'I'm gonna bone that',”

Hermann's ears go red, and he buries his face in Newton's neck, breathing the other man in.

“...Dude, that's the one you get?!” Newt laughs, running a hand through Hermann's dorky hair, “Come on!”

“I simply- an undergraduate- It was a long plane ride,1 and my eReader had died, and someone had left it in the seat pocket- I do not have to explain myself,” He grumbles.

“You totally read Twilight.”

“Go to sleep, Newt.” 

“Whatever. You were totally team Jacob.” Newt smirks, and presses a kiss to the top of the other man's head.

* * *

The bite was the best worst thing to ever happen to Newt.

Ten years of working with the hottest thing since the sun went supernova, and he'd never noticed. Hermann had been under his nose- hah, werewolf joke- the whole time, arguing with him at staff meetings and wearing those ridiculous glasses as he stared at chalk boards. He wasted ten years. He didn't expect to waste the next ten.

They go to Stacker Pentecost's coffee shop every Sunday afternoon, and every now and then, they go to Hannibal's club and Newt tries to talk Hermann into dancing. It never works, but he thinks he's wearing him down. Newt hangs out with Mako, with Raleigh, with the rest of the pack- Allison, Tendo, the Weis- and it's surprisingly easy. He gets to go home to Hermann at the end of the night, and run beside him in the woods, and argue with him over breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It works. It's worth it.

There are some downsides to being a werewolf- Large crowds make him nervous, and sometimes, he can't manage people at all. On days like that, Hermann lets him build a nest of blankets and just lies beside him, working or reading quietly beside him.

Somehow, it works.

  
  
  


 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Best/Worst Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1994067) by [blarg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarg/pseuds/blarg)




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